


The Once & Future King

by blue_crow



Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_crow/pseuds/blue_crow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Alan had answered the page himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sword In The Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my intrepid beta [](http://blaaksable.livejournal.com/profile)[**blaaksable**](http://blaaksable.livejournal.com/) and my best cheerleader, [](http://tin-o-biscuits.livejournal.com/profile)[**tin_o_biscuits**](http://tin-o-biscuits.livejournal.com/). I could not have done this without you.

Truth be told, he'd never really believed all of Flynn's talk about the Grid.  He loved it- everyone did, it was a brilliant story, and what programmer didn't like the thought that their programs were alive and as human as they were?  They'd fallen in love over the story, too- Flynn had romanticized his security program into some kind of goddamn virtual hero, like Alan had personally saved his life, and who wouldn't fall in love with someone that was calling them a hero? 

But as everything desaturates and begins to glow and hum around him, he realizes that he's just stepped into Flynn's tall tales of digital frontiers.  He is bewildered, and then- the weight of it settles on his shoulders.  Could he have come here sooner, and talked Flynn into returning home?

Instead of bolting for the outside, he ventures upstairs into what used to be Flynn's apartment.  They'd made so many memories there, especially when Flynn had found his home too painful to bear after Jordan's death.  Like Flynn's office, it is the same but different.  It is a mess like it had always been, and the layout is the same large bed and makeshift couch by the window, but the furnishings are better quality, the couch on the floor by design and not by accident.  The bookshelves, however, are the most different- Flynn had filled his real ones with programming manuals and VHS tapes, many of them pornography, but here he'd built a library of digitized classics.  In fact, the books are the only objects in the room that aren't glossy and sleek- they show their age and maybe that's what draws him to them.

There are holes in the bookshelf like volumes were pulled hastily, but one lays alone on a shelf like an invitation.  As he touches the spine he realizes that it is the book he gave Flynn the night he became CEO of Encom.  It is a leather-bound copy of The Once and Future King, something he always suspected that Flynn had never read.  Instead, it feels well-worn, and he opens to what he thinks is a bookmark only to discover a brief handwritten note inserted between the Ill-Made Knight and the Candle in the Wind.

"Alan.  I knew you'd come for me.  Kevin."

He holds the book to his chest like he's embracing Flynn for a long moment, his eyes closing, nearly paralyzed with grief.  He knows now that the mess here is not Flynn's lived-in apartment, but the product of a hasty departure.  He fears that he is too late- had he doomed him to a digital prison simply because he hadn't believed him?

A terrible drone catches his attention, and his vision is filled with the red glow of some awful machine- a Recognizer. He has a shameful instinct to hide, but a stronger desire for vengeance takes hold. He walks steadily out of the arcade to face the vehicle and its black-masked guards, the note secure in his pocket.  He can't ignore the irony of walking out of an arcade, into a video game.

"Identify yourself, program."

"I am User Alan-1," Alan says as commandingly as he can, trying to remember all of the elements from the stories Flynn had told.  "Take me to User Flynn." 

The guards exchange glances and silently lead Alan onto the platform.  There are eight spaces, none of them occupied, and they guide him to a spot towards the center.  As he steps into place, restraints curl around his feet and the guards retreat into the side of the Recognizer as the platform raises into the sky.  Alan can't help but marvel at Flynn's vision, his skill.  His lover's creation is breathtaking- perfect, like he'd always said.  He wishes that he had been able to share the experience of creation and discovery with him, instead of having it alone like this.

The Recognizer docks on a landing pad, and a new battery of helmeted guards step up to scan him.

"User," says one of the guards he'd spoken with before. 

"Armory," says the other, and before he knows it he's on an elevator falling through space, into a blue-white chamber held motionless in the center.  On instinct, Alan tightens his fingers around the slip of paper in his pocket as recesses in the wall whir to life.

Four women- no, he corrects himself- four programs step forward and cut the clothing from his body.  It would be erotic if it wasn't so dehumanizing, but he imagines that the number of humans that this place has seen count only one.  He doesn't speak.  A black substance covers his nakedness- something that feels like leather, or like vinyl.  The programs methodically snap armored plating onto the garment, each piece adjusting to his shape, so that he resembles a creature from their world and not from his.  One with white hair pulls his glasses off of his face and slips them down the same chute his suit fell down, and he realizes he hasn't needed his glasses since he arrived.  His eyes are perfect, like they'd been when he was a boy.

A tiny spark glows to life on his chest like a magnified single pixel, and lines light up along the back of his hands that trace down his fingers but the rest of his body armor stays black.  He's not vibrant like the guard programs or the outfitter programs.  In a detached way he's jealous of their luminance, but it seems significant somehow that he is dark.  He can feel Flynn's note inside his glove against his hand, a reassurance.

"Tron," one of them whispers, like the name is a prayer.  The one with the white hair shoots her a sharp glance, reprimanding her blasphemy.

"No.  He's a User," she says coldly. 

A digital voice speaks a recording as a program with black hair crosses the room.  "Attention, USER.  You will receive an identity disk.  Everything you do or learn will be imprinted on this disk.  If you lose your disk, you will be subject to immediate deresolution."  She removes a glowing disk- and that he understands from Flynn's tales- and paces back towards him with it, handing it off to the reverent program who snaps it into the plating between his shoulderblades with practiced ease.  There is a tremor that runs through his body as he feels- connected somehow, but to what, he doesn't know. 

The restraints on his feet, however, go nowhere even as the programs retreat to their alcoves.  The platform rockets back up as quickly as it once descended and he's shuttled back onto the Recognizer by the same guards, or at least identical ones, and several more in increasingly elaborate costumes.  He can't tell whether their increased number indicates increased security or an honor guard.

The Recognizer docks alongside a larger craft that glows golden instead of red, and for a second, his heart jumps.  This is the kind of grand ship that Flynn's ego would dream up, and even though the color is wrong- as Flynn had so famously changed the neon lighting on the exterior of the Encom corporate helicopter to blue- he can't help feeling eager.  Maybe he isn't too late.  The guards lead him inside past gold-lit hallways, and stop in front of a door.  The door opens to a room that he can only describe as a throne room, where a figure as familiar as his own reflection sits watching the city from a low black couch.

Flynn- finally, after all these years, he's found him again- turns his head and grins.

Flynn, as beautiful as the last time he'd seen him, untouched by all these years in his digital paradise, beckons him, and despite the strangeness of the situation he's powerless to resist that smile.  He crosses the room in an instant and bends down to catch his lover in a crushing embrace, and Flynn pulls him down onto the couch.  Alan straddles him, just desperate to get close, and catches his cheek in his hand to admire his flawless skin against the golden glow of his robe's circuitry. 

"Look at you," Flynn breathes into the space between their lips, but Alan doesn't care to look anymore.

He leans in and catches Flynn's lips with his own, like the world around them will shatter around them if he doesn't.  Flynn is rusty, that's for sure- he kisses like he's never tried before, but he learns- no, he remembers- fast, rediscovering the way Alan growls against his mouth when he sucks his tongue.  He knows that there are differences, that Flynn's hand stays on his hip, pulling him down harder instead of restlessly threading through his hair, but he can't pay mind to them.  Flynn- his Flynn, is against him, and that's all that matters.  He slows the rush of the kiss, savoring, to pull back and breathe against his lips.

"Come home," he murmurs, an insistent plea.  "I want to take you home.  Let's go."

"But you just got here," Flynn beams.  "You don't want to see what I've built?  This- is perfect, Alan.  Don't you see?"  He looks out the window, towards a black sky erupting with golden fireworks, and Alan has to agree.  It is perfect.

"I- anything you want," he blurts.  He tries not to let himself feel betrayed that Flynn is safe and content, and that there's nothing that stopped him from coming home years ago.

"I want you," Flynn purrs, catching his lips again, but tenderly this time before pulling back and shifting to sit next to Alan instead of underneath him.  The familiarity of it soothes him, and he accepts that years in this place may not have changed Flynn's body, but they may very well have changed his mind, his personality.  It may take him some work to get him back.  He shifts to sit next to him, his eyes never leaving him.

"Why didn't you come home?" he asks, petting his shoulder as Flynn looks out into his creation. 

"I can't-" he starts, and shakes his head.  "I can't go back.  Not yet."  His voice is breaking around the edges, and he closes his eyes for a long moment, and then opens them like he's caught on something he remembers.  "Sam.  How's Sam?" 

The name feels like a password, like it is something Alan needs to hear.  But he wraps his arm around Flynn's shoulder and holds him close.  "He's fine.  Brilliant.  Unmotivated.  He spends more time on your old bike than his future.  I've done everything I can for him- he's practically my son."

"And how're you, Alan?"  Flynn asks, his beautiful blue eyes locking on his own.

"I never let you go," he admits.  "I- I've missed you." 

Flynn smiles, and it isn't quite tender enough.  "I thought you would have replaced me by now."

"Flynn, the only thing I've had in my bed for 20 years is my pager." 

He starts the laughter, himself, and then Flynn joins in and he feels that everything is going to be okay.

Flynn shows him around the city on his craft, leaning against the window and explaining his designs.  He's so proud of all of it, and he should be- it is, as he says, perfect.  It feels like home except streamlined, efficient, not messy like human cities.  There is no crime, he says, no need.  Everyone has everything that they need and the system delivers the required amount of energy to every program.  And it is beautiful- all of Flynn's time here has been put to use.

"I think Karl Marx would be jealous," he jokes, and Flynn just smiles, and explains some new detail of the Recognizer transport system.  "And the armed guard?"

"For your protection," Flynn assures him.  "Programs without identity disks are considered rogue by the system, and are destroyed.  There has to be order."  He gives him a sly look for a second, "Do you mind if I see your disk?"

For a second, Alan is hesitant, but he unhooks it from his back and hands it over.  Flynn takes the thing in his hand and presses a button, popping up a hologram display that shows him data that he can evidently read.  As Alan looks harder, he can see an internal logic in the code that swirls double-helixes above the circle, and he's sure that after a few hours alone with it, he'd be able to read it too.

After a long minute, Flynn's eyes flash white, and he collapses the display.  He circles around Alan, locking the disk back onto his back, before brushing his lips over the side of his neck, arms snaking around his waist.  Dextrous fingers, skilled from all those years of video gaming and motorcycle repair, play up and down his chest, simultaneously soothing and exciting him.  "Alan," he purrs.  "My hero.  You've come to rescue me." 

Alan responds instantly to the words, ones that never failed to arouse him, twisting and catching Flynn in a demanding kiss, fingers sliding into his hair, the other hand pushing at his long coat.  He can't have it off of him fast enough. 

Flynn catches the coat as it falls, and leads Alan back to the couch, pressing a button on the side to transform it into a bed.  Alan pushes him back onto the surface and straddles him again, leaning down to kiss his neck, down his chest, waiting for Flynn to show him how to remove the suit so that he can have him naked.  Finally Flynn presses a button by his low stomach and the pixels melt off of him, dissolving into a single cube, and he's exposed.  His skin is as flawless and healthy as his face was and Alan can't keep his mouth off of him, tasting, retracing familiar features.  He loves the way Flynn pulls his head down when he teases too lightly.

"God, Flynn," he purrs, as he notices his erection.  He's always admired his cock, the prominent bulge it made in his jeans, and he's missed touching him.  He's not even thinking about his own pleasure as he runs his tongue over him, licking at the spot just behind the head that makes Flynn's eyes shut in pleasure.

"No, Alan," Flynn murmurs.  "Not like this.  I want you."  He sits up and pulls Alan in for a kiss, needy, and while it isn't like Flynn to turn down a blowjob, Alan understands that the situation is romantic and calls for more than quick satisfaction.  "Please," he adds, between kisses, and Alan searches for the button to remove his own suit. 

He finally finds it, and he clutches the paper note- he'd forgotten about it- before setting it aside with his disk and the cube that would reform the leathers.  He knows he should mention it, but he just catches Flynn for another kiss as he lays back, letting Flynn spread his legs for him.

"I need this," he murmurs, bending down to lick against Alan's entrance, opening him up gradually the way that Flynn did sometimes when he was trying to get something, or trying to apologize, something that made his knees weak.  The slow, tender increase in pressure is far more welcome than his fingers, at least at first, until his body practically demands more.

"Please-" he begs, forcing his eyes open so that he can watch Flynn's smirk as he slides a spit-slicked finger into him, teasing his lips over his balls and sucking gently.  He hasn't trusted anyone like this in so long but he lets Flynn exploit him the way he knows how, letting him draw moans out of him as he stretches him slowly, and he's hard like he hasn't been in forever.  His muscles tense around Flynn's fingers as he pulls them out.

Flynn pushes one of his legs up as he presses into him,slowly, making up for lack of lube with uncharacteristic care.  Alan swears against his neck as he feels himself totally full, and Flynn echoes the words with a moan against his neck.  He thinks that Flynn should be rusty, but his body remembers everything that Alan likes, the way he rolls his hips and comes in contact with his prostate at the end of the stroke.  It is short of masterful and Alan can hardly keep his breath.  His hands clutch Flynn's shoulders, holding him close, and he tries to roll his hips to match him but he's not as good as he used to be, and Flynn just holds him in place, doing the work for both of them.

Eventually Alan can't stop himself and he reaches for his own cock, and in a few swift strokes he comes on his own stomach.  He's shocked by how it glows white, but Flynn doesn't seem to notice.  He fucks Alan until he's satisfied, and comes inside him when he is.

A smirk crosses Flynn's face that doesn't seem to belong there, a cold expression for what they'd just done, and Alan instinctively draws back.

"Flynn-" he ventures, and then he pales.

"I was going to correct you earlier, but we were having such a good time," says this thing that is not Flynn, that was never Flynn.

"CLU," he says, and the weight of betrayal returns tenfold.

"He always said that you were brilliant," Clu scoffs as he dresses, the garment rippling onto his skin. 

"Where is Flynn?" Alan demands, as he wipes his hand on the couch, too angry to be polite, and applies his own garment, careful to hide the note in his palm again.  Then he takes his disk in his hand, knowing he must protect it.

"I don't know.  That's why I paged you, Alan.  You're my bait.  I'm going to let you say goodbye, before I derezz you both."  Clu slips on his jacket, and heads for the hallway.  "I had expected that you'd put up more of a fight, but I must say, I enjoyed our encounter." 

Alan stands, poised to throw his disk, but the doors close, and Clu is gone.  



	2. The Sword In The Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would have happened if Alan had answered the page himself? Part two of four. [(Part 1 is here.)](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/310189.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my intrepid beta [](http://blaaksable.livejournal.com/profile)[**blaaksable**](http://blaaksable.livejournal.com/) and my best cheerleader, [](http://tin-o-biscuits.livejournal.com/profile)[**tin_o_biscuits**](http://tin-o-biscuits.livejournal.com/). I could not have done this without you.

  
Alan rages for several hours, primarily at himself.

The signs had been so clear that he was with some cheap knockoff of Kevin Flynn.  Too many things had been too different.  That man had been too perfect to be his Flynn, too restrained and too generous.  Flynn would have demanded information and given none in return and by now they would be in his bed, Flynn snoring blissfully.  He should have realized that Clu was downloading intimate information about him from his disk, information that he used to lure him into bed. 

He hasn't come all this way and suffered this humiliation to fail. He's come here to save Flynn, and he intends to do it.

The doors open and this time it is not the golden program, but a red one.

This one wears a helmet, and he recognizes him instantly.  The red markings on his body are subtle but the four dots on his chest are unmistakeable.  The resemblance that Alan sees is more than his costume- there is a strength in his posture that he has always hoped to have, himself. 

"Tron," he breathes, and stands to meet his creation, though the program hesitates at the door and watches. This program tilts its helmet towards Alan and gives off a menacing growl- and seems so unlike the righteous paragon that Flynn once described. Alan can't help but remember the way Flynn remarked on his growling, both in irritation and in arousal. The program stalks closer to him, sizing him up, and the low rumbling sound increases in volume. Alan stands tall, not about to back down from his own creation, though he has to admit to some fear.

"Tron."  He repeats the name, this time a command.  "Tell me.  What's going on?"

The creature before him stands incredibly still, tense, as if caught between two irresistible urges.  For a long moment Alan isn't sure what's going to happen, until the door opens once again, and Tron snaps up to hold perfect posture, turning to face the newcomer.

Clu glides majestically into the room, and his eyes narrow at the other program's presence.  "Rinzler.  Leave us."

"His name is Tron," Alan growls, but the program departs.  Alan feels betrayed- what right does Clu have to order his program around, or to call him by another name?

"He is not Tron anymore," Clu explains contemptuously.  "He's not yours to command. He fights for the Programs, now."  Clu sets his face in a determined, noble look, as if he's a revolutionary making sacrifices for a cause. 

Alan looks out the window again, as the Throne Ship circles the city, orbiting around a tall stalk with a building at the top.  Clu stands beside him, still admiring his own creation.  It seems almost masturbatory the way he gloats over it, eyes tracing familiar roads and channels.

"I've announced that I will sacrifice you in the Games," Clu informs him.  "The largest tournament that we've ever held will occur, and the winner will be allowed to destroy you, User."  He smirks coldly, and pauses for effect. "I am sure that the winner will be Rinzler."

"Poetic," he grumbles.  His mind lingers on Tron, on the physical similarities between himself and the program, ones that went beyond their garments. He recalls the action figure that Flynn insisted that he keep on his desk, that glowed blue- but this Rinzler evidently has a different color scheme.  The red looks like an infection on his circuits, and the way Clu relishes the program's conversion leads him to only one conclusion.   "What did you do to him?"

"I repurposed him, for the needs of the System.  As I'm sure you've seen…  this system is perfect.  I had no need for his previous functions."  There's a note of pride in his voice, boastful, and something more intimate.  He must believe that he owns Tron, as much as he owns this system.

"He would have shut you down," Alan accuses, righteous in the defense of his program, the piece of himself that Clu has destroyed. "He wouldn't let you slaughter users, and I'm sure that's not all you're doing."

"My system has no need for Users.  I've worked too hard to create perfection for it to be ruined by your interference."

"Then why did you summon me here?" Alan ventures, and he's rewarded with a stronger reaction than he'd hoped- he'd wondered why Clu had brought him to his private craft, but now he suspected a new scenario.  "That page wasn't a distress signal from Flynn.  It was from you," he concludes.  
Clu turns to face him, studying him, deciding which answer to give him.  "Your defeat- will send a message," he says, and it isn't the stern command most of his words have been.  Instead, each word sounds carefully chosen, as if the message has been carefully crafted.

"To Flynn," Alan offers, but this time Clu doesn't react so obviously- Alan wonders if he's guarding himself closer, that he's already learned too much.

"No, for the few programs who are still deluded enough to believe in the might of the Users."

Alan shakes his head, but is silent.  Of all his questions, the answer he wants most is whether Flynn is alive or dead. He's certain- or he's trying to be- that Clu wouldn't go to all this effort if not for Flynn's benefit, but he can't shake the dread that he's too late and that all of this has been in vain.  He can't help the heartbreak creeping into his eyes, and he knows that Clu's intentional withholding of that information is working.

Clu seems particularly satisfied with his crushed expression, and scans his body with his eyes.  "I wonder," the program asks, a cruel note in his voice.  "If Flynn were dead, would you settle for me?"  He leans close to brush his lips over Alan's neck.

Alan tenses, and he sets his jaw, determined not to flinch away from him.  "You're not even a cheap, knock-off copy of Kevin Flynn.  You don't even come close, to how- brilliant he is, how inspired-"

"That's not what you thought earlier," Clu smirks, and his breath is warm against his skin.

"Don't touch me," Alan orders, furious at the way his body reacts to the familiarity of this imposter.

"I don't intend to," Clu smirks, stepping away.  "Programs are superior to Users in all ways…  I prefer Rinzler's touch," he purrs, and it hits the nerve in Alan he's intended.

"Is that why you repurposed him?  Because he liked Flynn better, too?"  Alan burns with righteous fire, but the barb doesn't even make Clu flinch.

"Yes.  Tron believed in the Users.  I've liberated him from your servitude.  He expresses his gratitude very generously."  Clu's eyes are as lecherous as his implications, and Alan is revolted, though he knows that Flynn could have driven him to sin with that expression.

"Don't talk about him that way," Alan defends, but the effort seems wasted- Clu's eyes drift back to the window and his creation.

"I am going to observe his preparation for the games.  I suggest you prepare as well, but take care.  Anything too strenuous might be too damaging for your deteriorating body," Clu suggests condescendingly as he exits.

He is alone for some time, but eventually he channels his anger into more constructive thoughts.

Tron has been corrupted.  Alan is certain that there is a way to restore him- that the word 'repurpose' suggests that the original source code has been maintained.  He can't explain why he's so certain that Tron is the key to saving Flynn and deposing Clu, but the way the program had responded to him suggests that there are secrets locked inside there. 

Clu's presence has reminded him just how desperately he misses Flynn.  Even though Clu is twisted, a dark mockery of the traits that made Kevin Flynn a great man, they have similarities that Alan can't ignore.  His enthusiasm for his creation, especially, sends a pang through Alan's chest.  He can't count the hours he'd listened to Flynn chatter on about some new discovery or other, the maps in his arcade games, like a boy again.  Clu had done that.  More than the information taken from his disk, it had been that enthusiasm that had seduced him into believing that before him was the man he'd known and loved for years.  Perhaps Clu can also be redeemed. 

The ship picks up speed over the city, and a large open arena comes into view.  The rumbling of the crowd jolts him out of his thoughts, and he is filled with dread- Clu was right with his cruel teasing.  He has gotten on in years, and while he tries to keep fit with tennis and regular gym visits, he is not what he once was.  He will be no match for himself at his physical prime.

Several glassy, modular chambers circle each other in midair, containing pairs of combatants.  Almost every program in the first round glows red or orange- none glow golden.  The color must be Clu's alone.  However, more than one glows in the blue tone that Flynn seemed to have considered his own, and those were perhaps the most sinister.  Their participation in this tournament feels more like a betrayal.

He can't help but think of nights he and Flynn had spent on the couch in his apartment, watching a game over beer and pizza.  He likes the fundamentals of basketball, himself, and the math of baseball, but Flynn would watch anything- football, hockey, whatever, but he liked racing the best.  Not Nascar, and he would always dismiss the sport, but motorcycles and even conventional bikes.  A few times, some of them before Jordan had died, Flynn had convinced him to stay over so they could get up at 2 AM for a BBC feed of bike racing, half of it in French.  Flynn had exalted the team dynamics, the herd motion, but Alan can only remember his excitement, not the results.

Alan is horrified and enthralled by how the programs shatter into glass pixels as they are defeated.  Flynn never would have allowed this kind of slaughter of programs, this waste of data.  The floating arena chambers spin and merge, programs eliminating each other according to the bracket, a perversion of sport.  Rinzler is the first one to eliminate an opponent in the first bracket, and Alan imagines that the pattern will continue.

Clu enters the room and settles onto the couch to watch the spectacle.  Apparently, he and Flynn share their taste for sports, but his posture is all wrong- Flynn was always leaned forward, engaged in the action, while Clu leans back, his arms spread, passive and dominant.  These games are being performed for his enjoyment, and he doesn't have the slightest doubt in what the outcomes will be. Alan understands suddenly that the excitement in watching sports comes from the emotional risk in siding with a combatant that may or may not win. This program has not watched his champion lose in some time.

There's a muted crash as one of Rinzler's twin disks creates a hole underneath his unwitting opponent, and the program crashes to his death.  Too soon, though it must have been an hour of show, there is one singular module in the arena.  The black-suited program is victorious. 

A pair of black-suited guards enter the room, and escort Alan from the Throne Ship to the arena floor.

A bald program with a shield over his face waits for him.  "Programs," he announces to the crowd, "We have in our midsts a User.  One of the very ones that seek to enslave us!"  The crowd boos, though Alan holds himself tall.  "Let us demonstrate our power.  He will face our champion- Rinzler!" 

A riotous cheer echos through the crowd, and the guards lead him to a levitating platform that brings him into the arena capsule that Rinzler inhabits.

The black-suited program crouches low, his twin disks in his hands.  Alan instinctively reaches for his own, staying light on his feet, not allowing himself to be intimidated by the low growl emanating from his opponent. 

Finally Rinzler throws his disks, one directly at him, another in an arc that anticipates his movement.  Alan stumbles and falls while dodging, but the disks swoop back into Rinzler's hand, and he picks himself up from the ground. Adjusting his strategy, he replaces his disk on his back.  Rinzler growls again, louder, and repeats the throw, charging closer to impede his ability to save himself.

The first disk almost grazes his shoulder, but the second snaps into his hand as if it belongs there.  The red edge should have wounded him- some part of his brain is sure of this- but it feels inert.

Alan realizes that he has no intention to wound Rinzler, and that the combat can only end one way, unless he escapes it.  The only plausible way out is down, so he bends down to smash an opening in the combat chamber, and manages to break his fall with a roll, though the impact stuns him for a second.  He makes it to his feet, and stands poised, half of Rinzler's disk in his hand, as he prepares to defend himself on the ground.  The program advances towards the opening, staring down at him ominously.  The guards from before approach from behind him, their staves brandished.  He raises his arm, ready to throw the disk, but the roar of a vehicle distracts him.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a white-edged car appears, a retro design that could have been Flynn's.  Its door opens, and Alan gets in instinctively- the color and the design breed his trust.  The door closes, and the guards start to chase him, running until they take off on brilliant red motorcycles behind him.

Rinzler's disk whirrs angrily in his lap.  



	3. The Ill-Made Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would have happened if Alan had answered the page himself? Part three of four. [(Part 1 is here,](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/310189.html) [and Part 2 is here.)](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/310680.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my intrepid beta [](http://blaaksable.livejournal.com/profile)[**blaaksable**](http://blaaksable.livejournal.com/) and my best cheerleader, [](http://tin-o-biscuits.livejournal.com/profile)[**tin_o_biscuits**](http://tin-o-biscuits.livejournal.com/). I could not have done this without you.

The car speeds towards the wall of the arena with no sign of stopping, and Alan worries that he's traded one form of death for another.

The driver is the wrong shape to be Flynn.  Alan he can't help being disappointed.  But - she - handles the car with precision, blowing a hole in the side of the arena and speeding into the breach, and he has no choice but to trust her.  The car clears a massive jump, and comes down hard on rocky terrain.  He feels his stomach drop out and he clutches the door handle, shaken.  It is the first time that he wishes he had sent Sam into this, rather than going himself, but he knows he should have felt that earlier.  Sam wouldn't have been lured in by Clu quite the way that he had been, and would have been much more adept at the games. 

"Thank you," he manages, once they're secluded in the mountains, and the guards are clearly not following anymore.

"You were doing okay out there," she observes, as her helmet retracts into her catsuit.  Her eyes are wide, feline, and she is young.  Sam's age, he thinks, though a small part of him wonders instinctively if she has taken his place in Flynn's life.

"I'm too old for all this.  I'm Alan," he introduces, and he offers her his hand.

"I'm Quorra.  Flynn has told me so much about you," she beams, taking his hand in hers and shaking firmly.  Her gestures are crisp and her skin is cold, unlike Clu, who maintained a perfect facade of humanity.

"Flynn," he breaths, and the word alone warms him from within.  Finally.

"He doesn't know you're here," she grins, like they have a secret. 

Alan is quiet for the rest of the drive, thinking about what he'll finally say to Flynn, now that he can.  What words even convey how he's missed him, how he's betrayed him.  If Flynn is the man he remembers, though, he won't be able to get more than a few words in.

Eventually the car docks in a garage of sorts, and Quorra leads him up into Flynn's dwelling.  The ceilings are low and the room is dark, save a single light.  Flynn is seated in the center of the room, on the glowing floor tile, and he stays immobile as Alan approaches.  Quorra hangs back, as if to give the two some privacy.

Alan drops to his knees, behind Flynn.  He is quiet for a second, allowing Flynn to become aware of him. He can see that his lover is deep in meditation, but he is patient. There is a different aura around him than he remembers- he is no longer the vortex of energy and creation, but carries the wisdom of many years.

Eventually Flynn's head turns and his eyes lock on Alan's, and he fills with joy and recognition. He looks him over, examining his suit, until he notices the disk in Alan's hand, and he recoils.

"Why did you bring that here?" Flynn demands, his voice uneven with fear, his attention trained on the disk.

"I- thought maybe I-"  Alan fumbles desperately, at a loss for words. This isn't the perfect reunion he'd envisioned for so long.

Flynn stands and reaches to take the disk from him, and instinctively he holds it close, unwilling to let Flynn have it. He doesn't understand his possessiveness around the disk, but when Flynn tries to take it from his hand, he snatches it back.

"Flynn, what are you doing?!" Alan insists, hurt by Flynn's bizarre lack of tenderness towards him.  "I brought the disk so that I could examine it. I need to see the data that's on this."

"They'll be tracking that," Flynn answers, restraining his anger as he resigns himself to the next course of action.  "Quorra, which path did you take?"

"Underground," she answers, and Flynn gets the kind of focus that indicates that he's doing math.

"We've got a few hours.  More, if we can tamper with the disk.  Let's start there," he says, watching Alan with traces of lingering suspicion. 

Alan frowns, willing to let Flynn be practical for the moment, though he wonders about the kind of danger and fear he must have lived in, to react this way so quickly.  He searches for the button on the disk,  the one that he'd watched Clu push on his own, and the dizzying array of code and DNA shapes twist in the air before him.  Unlike his own code, however, the colors are a jumble- some pieces are bright blue, like the action figure and the jet, and others are the infected red of Rinzler's garments.  A few particularly long, intense sections glow golden, like the Throne Ship and Clu's circuitry. 

Flynn's face lights up with- hope.  "Alan, what is this?"

"This disk is Tron's.  One of them," Alan explains, as Flynn reaches in to touch a red strain, and then he tears it away with his fingers, letting it dissipate into the air.  The code heals itself, blue bars filling in the double helix swirls, and Alan reaches to remove some of the code as well, able to identify where the errors are as well as Flynn, perhaps faster.  There are things that seem familiar to him- as if the patterns are a visual representation of the program he wrote 20 years ago. 

"Tron's alive," Flynn breathes reverently, and his eyes meet Alan's over the code.  He smiles at him, not quite as warmly as he'd hoped, but enough.

Quorra leans in to watch, but she looks away quickly as if the sight makes her ill.  The process feels like surgery- Alan knows his fingers are extracting corrupted sections of programming, and even he finds it unsettling.

It takes forever, but eventually there is only blue code in the display.  The sound is reduced, as well- the object sounds less angry than it had.

"Well, here goes nothing," Flynn murmurs as he collapses the display.  Clearly they both expect the same thing- for the disk to flash blue and look restored- but instead it slows to silence and glows a brackish off-white. 

Alan looks crestfallen, but Flynn slips an arm around his shoulders. 

"You said- he's got two of them, right?  Maybe we gotta…  re-combine them, or something.  There's still hope.  Anyway, it's gonna be real hard for them to track that, so we're…  safe."

"For now, you mean," Alan murmurs darkly, but Flynn doesn't listen.  He just places the disk on the bookcase, and Alan is reminded.  "I- I got your note."

"My note?" Flynn asks, his forehead wrinkling.  The distance between them allows Alan to study his lover- he's aged well, he decides, he's kept his hair and his strength, and the facial hair he's grown makes him look distinguished.  The dim room lights up as he follows Flynn to the bookshelf, and after a minute of fumbling, he's found the button by his wrist that retracts his glove.

"This," he says, as he offers the slip of paper to Flynn.

Flynn takes it, his fingers gently tracing the edges, and then,he has the copy of The Once & Future King in his hands, the one from his apartment.  He places it alongside the other leather-bound tomes on the shelf, and then pulls him close, crushing the air out of him.  Alan holds him the same way, breathing in his scent, his warmth.  They have to make the moment count, with the future uncertain and the past troubled.

"How's Sam?" Flynn asks, against his neck.

"He misses you," is all Alan feels he needs to say.

Eventually they let go.  Flynn presses some buttons on the side of the table and a meal materializes on top of it, too much food for three, though Alan is more interested in examining the bookcase, trailing his fingers over the spines.  He didn't know Flynn was this much of a bookworm, but he's pleased.  It is something that they now have in common.

"Did you ever finish it?" Alan asks, as he traces out the gold lettering on the Once & Future King.  He's reluctant to ask anything too emotional.

"No," Flynn admits, with a sheepish smile.  "Didn't get to the last book."

"Don't," Alan murmurs, turning back to him.  He joins Quorra and Flynn at the table.  "What do we have to do?"

"What do you mean?" asks Flynn, as he pours a pale blue liquid into a tiny cup, and passes it down to Alan.

"For you to come home."  Alan takes the cup in his hands, and enjoys the warmth, even though he's skeptical of what the taste will be. The color is as unnatural as everything else here.

Flynn smiles wryly.  "I had given up thinking that there was a way.  But- you, here…  Tron's disk…  maybe you've changed all that."

Alan smiles and ventures a sip of the liquid, and is surprised by the nuance of flavor that Flynn has managed to create.  The color is a bit odd, but it is unmistakably sake.  Quorra smiles and sips at hers, as well, and Alan bypasses any questions about whether or not she is old enough to be drinking.  He serves himself some of the food- a clear broth, some beautifully arranged sashimi, rice and an assortment of pickled vegetables.  The selection is perfect, and he looks at Flynn questioningly.

"Thought you'd like it," he shrugs.  "Haven't quite gotten wine down yet.  Can't remember it well enough.  Was more your thing." 

Quorra looks a bit put out.  "I liked it," she ventures. 

"So, Quorra, how did you-"  Alan looks at Flynn, like he's not sure how to finish the question.

"He saved me," she grins. 

"Quorra is what I called an iso- an isomorphic algorithm."  He pauses for effect.  "Life.  Organic digital life."  They share a smile, like a secret. Alan wonders again if he should be jealous. He's not defensive, he wouldn't blame Flynn for taking a companion after all this time, but he can't help wishing he'd been in her place for all of these years. All the night he'd spent alone, and Flynn had been closer than he'd imagined possible.

"I would think that's impossible, but evidently…" Alan comments, if only to keep the conversation moving.

"They're incredible," he admits.  "But Quorra- she's the only one left." Flynn's manner towards her is tender- fatherly, Alan realizes at once. He's not the one that's been replaced. Sam is.

Quorra just looks down at her plate, her lips in a thin smile.

"Clu killed them all," Flynn continues.  "That's… why I've been in here, all these years.  He staged a coup and I haven't been able to get back to the portal."

Alan reaches across the table to touch Flynn's hand. He understands the force of Clu's jealousy, and he suspects that it was Flynn's love that doomed the isos. That jealousy was also what had kept Flynn hidden from him for all these years.

They catch up on small talk over the rest of the meal.  Alan updates Flynn with details of Sam's life, the company, and Flynn explains how he's kept busy teaching Quorra and learning inner peace.  Quorra chimes in when she can, but mostly she doesn't have much to say about the world that Alan and Flynn are from.  Eventually she retires, bringing the new book with her.  Alan assumes that she's read everything Flynn has here several times over.

Flynn clears the table with the push of a button, leaving the carafe of sake and their glasses, and dims the lights in the room. 

"I've missed you," Alan starts, a broken edge to his voice.

"Alan, don't do this.  The past- it's all in the past.  Be here now." 

"I'm telling everyone you were in Tibet, finding yourself," Alan attempts to joke, but Flynn just shifts his chair closer. 

"Alan, kiss me."

Alan looks down, ashamed.  "Kevin, I have to tell you- Clu-"

Flynn cuts him off with a kiss, and it is the one he'd secretly hoped for, uneven and slow, Flynn playing his tongue against his like he's been thinking about doing it for 20 years.  Alan growls against his mouth and kisses him forcefully, reluctant to rush things but desperate to erase his transgressions.  Flynn catches his hand, leading him to the bed in the alcove across the room.  "It's okay," he murmurs against his lips.  "'s long as you don't mind I got old."

"You're beautiful," Alan murmurs as he kneels at the edge of the bed, when Flynn sits on the side.  "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."  It isn't hyperbolic.  Flynn's sage appearance is awe-inspiring, and he undresses him slowly, enjoying the process.  He's suddenly a little self-conscious of the weight he's put on since the last time he saw Flynn, how obvious it is in his catsuit, but he can tell that Flynn doesn't even see, and it puts him at ease.  Flynn reaches back to a button by the headboard, and little votive candles light up along the walls.  He was always a romantic.

He pushes the shirt off of Flynn's shoulders and kisses his neck, moaning against his skin.  His shoulders are still strong, and Alan loves the familiarity of it.  He feels a flash of guilt for how he'd lusted after Clu, the way his body had responded to the form of Flynn at his peak, but he ignores it in favor of worshiping Flynn's current state, his mouth exploring his chest.  His body hair is a little more prominent now, and it too is going silver.  Flynn gasps as he sucks at his nipple, petting hands through Alan's hair. 

"God, Alan- I-" Flynn murmurs, and Alan catches him for another kiss, undoing his pants, eager to have his cock in his hand again.  Again, he thinks ruefully, but the way Flynn moans against his lips erases all doubts.  "Fuck me," is Flynn's eloquent request.

"Anything," he answers, easing his pants off of his hips.  "Do you have, ah-"

"Lube?  Not much use for that," Flynn laughs.  "I can- figure something out."  He leans back to- code something, or conjure something, but before he's made any progress, Alan has pressed a spit-slicked finger to his entrance.

"Don't worry about it," he tells him, sucking at him gently.  It takes Flynn a little longer to get hard than he remembers (but what he remembers is that Flynn was usually halfway there before his pants were even off.)  He preps him slowly, easing him open, enjoying how he tastes, how tight Flynn is around his fingers, and eventually Flynn tenses fingers in his hair and pulls him back.

"Lemme get this off of you," Flynn purrs, and reaches to the button that retracts the whole suit, exposing him instantly.  He whistles, and Alan can't even pretend to feel self-conscious. 

"You haven't changed a bit," Alan teases, as Flynn lays back further on the bed and Alan kneels between his legs.

"'s a good thing for you, then," Flynn replies. "At least… I thought you liked what you had."

Alan shifts his hips to align with Flynn's, and pushes into him slowly.  Flynn gasps raggedly against his neck, unaccustomed to the feeling, and Alan knows he's out of practice when it takes him over a minute to get his rhythm right.

The way Flynn moans his name, it is clear that he could care less.

It isn't the crazy sex they used to have, like the time he fucked Flynn against the arcade machine, or when Flynn had him bent over the Ducati, and Flynn is quieter, moaning praise and his name instead of yelling curses, but it feels familiar.  Flynn's hands are strong on his shoulders, in his hair, and Alan strokes him eagerly, relishing the feeling of that big cock in his hand.  He finds the perfect balance of moving his hips against Flynn's and stroking him in time, the combination that makes Flynn tense around him and gasp against his neck. 

"Alan- Alan- deeper.  Please," Flynn pleads, and Alan's done being careful.  He does everything he can to make Flynn moan against his skin.

It lasts longer, one benefit of age, though by the time he feels Flynn tense with orgasm he's mentally reviewing Encom stock numbers to keep from coming too soon.  He lets go, then, and finishes inside him, moaning his name into his neck.

They curl around each other for a while, enjoying each other's presence, the warmth of skin against skin. It has been so long since either of them have had the simple luxury of sharing a bed that it is almost better than sex.

Alan's never been able to sleep while cuddling, but tonight is different, and he falls under while he's in Flynn's arms.  



	4. The Candle In The Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would have happened if Alan had answered the page himself? Part four of four. [(Part 1 is here,](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/310189.html) [Part 2 is here,](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/310680.html) [and Part 3 is here.)](http://blue-crow.livejournal.com/311144.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my intrepid beta [](http://blaaksable.livejournal.com/profile)[**blaaksable**](http://blaaksable.livejournal.com/) and my best cheerleader, [](http://tin-o-biscuits.livejournal.com/profile)[**tin_o_biscuits**](http://tin-o-biscuits.livejournal.com/). I could not have done this without you.

The lights snap on and Alan wakes with a start. 

Quorra is in the room, disk drawn, her eyes wild.  "They're here-" she starts, but Alan doesn't need her to finish.

He  shakes Flynn's shoulder, and scrambles up to dress himself. Armor ripples over his skin. 

Flynn wakes at his touch, but it takes him longer to come to attention. Then he catches Alan's panic and stands, fumbling in his rush to dress.

Quorra runs to the window and activates a switch.  An armored shield slams down, blocking out the view. Now Alan hears the drone of the Throne Ship, and he's terrified.

Flynn tugs on his jacket and draws his own disk. Alan takes Rinzler's disk that Alan reprogrammed from the bookcase into his hand- another weapon.

The burning point of a laser cuts right through the shield protecting the window, and they take cover in the alcove by the bed.

Flynn snatches Rinzler's disk out of Alan's hand, and pushes it into Quorra's, whispering, "Your room , go, now.  Don't come out until they're gone, no matter what."

Quorra looks defiant for a second, and her eyes flicker between the glowing wound the laser is making in the door and Flynn's stern face.  She bolts across the room and into her own chamber.

The laser completes its path, and a door-sized panel of the blast wall crashes to the ground. A guard steps through.

Alan is the first to throw his disk, and it derezzes the guard just as he reaches the button to raise the door shield.  As he scatters over the floor in a flood of pixels, the shield retracts into the ceiling, and the gaping maw of the Throne Ship fills the entire window.  He catches his disk and holds it, ready to throw again but there are too many targets- four figures stand in view.

Another guard and the arena barker follow Clu and Rinzler into the shelter. 

Flynn stands up to his full height and walks proudly into the center of the room, and Alan follows suit. 

Rinzler and the guard circle behind them while Clu stays front and center, his lackey hanging back a few steps.  The mechanical growl emanating out of Rinzler is menacing, but Flynn isn't visibly intimidated so Alan doesn't allow his fear to show either.

"Kevin Flynn.  How long has it been?" Clu asks menacingly.  "How long since you created me to build your perfect system- one that wasn't even what you wanted."

"Clu-" Flynn starts, attempting tenderness as he approaches his program, though he's wise enough to be wary.

"No," Clu snaps, years of suppressed rage fueling him now.  "You've never realized what you did, when you chose the Isos over your own creations-"

"What I did," Flynn insists, unable to back away from his creation, "is instill you with my own weakness.  That was my failure."

"Your weakness," Clu spits, and Flynn winces from the words like a blow.  "What do you think I am?  You think I'm just your copy?"

"My son," Flynn blurts, and then realizes that what he's said is truer than he'd ever admitted.  "You're my son.  I see that now," he murmurs, and Alan can see tears starting in his eyes. 

"If I am your son- why did their needs come first?" Clu seethes, continuing his offensive.  "The needs of your world- that's why you preferred the Isos.  They could change things- for you.  But they were destroying this place.  You've never understood."

Flynn is silent for a long minute, a rock in the face of Clu's fury.  "No," he breathes.  "I never understood.  You- Tron-" he glances behind himself, at the growling program. "You're as real as anything from my world.  As important, as wonderful.  I'm amazed by what you've created."

"You're lying," he rages.  "All this time, you've protected one of them.  Cared for her." His eyes slide to Alan and he smirks, readying a lower blow.  "And now you care for this User, who was so weak that he shames his creation.  Like you do."

"Don't talk about Alan that way!"  Flynn raises his voice for the first time, finally angry.  Alan reaches to hold his shoulder to calm him, but Flynn shakes him off.  "There had to be a way, Clu.  A balance.  For all of us.  I couldn't balance two worlds any better than you could.  That's my failing."

"I'm here to derezz the last one, Flynn.  Then I'll derezz both of you.  You won't have to balance two worlds, and neither will I." 

"No.  You can't have her.  I'll- I'll bring her out, with me," Flynn pleads, knowing that without Clu's permission none of them will make it out alive.  "We'll just- leave.  We'll never return."

"Only to return later, once you've got some problem you think we can fix for you?  To use us again?  No," Clu demands, "I will have my perfect system, and your lives are the cost."

"Don't do this," Flynn pleads.  "Let us go.  You can have your system, I swear-"

"Rinzler, search the building for the girl," Clu commands.  Alan reaches for his disk, but Flynn stays his hand.

The black-suited program turns and paces to the bedroom that Quorra had retreated to.  He activates the door, and it slides up.

The pale disk collides with his chest, a direct hit, but the program does not derezz like the others.  He staggers back, and collapses onto the ground.  The red lights on his suit flicker, and then turn off.

In the moment of confusion, Alan rushes to his side, pushing him onto his stomach and removing his disk.  He picks up the other half, combines them, and replaces them on the program's back.

The guard makes a move for his disk but Clu stays his hand for the moment.  "What are you doing?" he demands, as angry as he is suddenly- scared.

Alan doesn't answer, because he doesn't know exactly what result he hopes his actions to have.  His hands tremble as he removes them from Tron's body.

The markings on Rinzler's- Tron's- body flicker on but they're not red like they had been, or blue, like how they must have been once.  Instead they radiate an intense indigo that seems to consume the light just as it creates it- blacklight. 

All eyes are on Tron as he stands.  Instinctively, Alan backs away from him- the program's presence is more intimidating now than it was before.

Quorra stalks over, physically placing herself between Tron and Flynn, her disk drawn more as a precaution than a threat.

Tron surveys the room as if he's never seen it before, a low rumble in his throat.  The program has an incredible stillness to him and as his helmet retracts, Alan sees a resemblance of himself in his prime, though he's sure he's never looked so stern or menacing.

Clu growls, "Take care of him-" to his lackey and his remaining guard who instead flee into the Throne Ship, defecting from what they must assume is the losing side.

Tron crosses to Clu, and runs a hand over his shoulder, down his arm, his touch hard enough to bruise.  "You've ended enough lives, Clu.  Spare the girl.  Let her leave with the Users."

Clu tries to flinch away from him, and reaches for his own disk but the program doesn't allow him to move, taking his wrist in his other hand.  "Tron," he breathes, overwhelmed with- guilt? 

"Yes," the program growls.  "And no."  He raises his voice and looks back at the Users.  "I will take the name back, Alan-One." 

"Of course.  Tron."  Alan answers, uncertain of his words. 

"What are you?" Clu demands, ceasing his struggle.

"I no longer fight for the users," he informs Clu.  "But I will no longer obey you."

Clu wrenches himself away from Tron's grasp and paces away, concealing a tempest. 

Tron rests a hand on his shoulder and when Clu pulls violently away from his touch, he catches him in his arms, holding him firmly from behind.  Clu struggles for a long moment but eventually submits, still against him though his shoulders are set defiantly.

Alan looks to Flynn, uncomfortable watching Clu's emotional undoing, wanting to give the programs some privacy, but Flynn takes his hand in his own.

"I did what I had to do.  You would have destroyed me- undone everything I worked for-" Clu defends to Tron, his jaw set.

"Yes, I would have," Tron rumbles against his neck, too emotionless for the circumstances.

"I freed you!" Clu nearly sobs, trying to pull away again.  "I gave you free will.  You could- act in your own interests, for once-"

"No.  You gave me another master.  Now, I am free," Tron says, holding him closer, his strength overwhelming the other program.

"I was- an architect," Clu says, his voice raw with emotion.  "Not a leader.  I- only wanted to create the- the perfect system."  He chokes on the beginning waves of catharsis.

"That sounds familiar," Alan whispers, and Flynn looks sheepish.  Quorra falls back to stand beside them, still readied in a defensive stance but allowing them a better view.

"You won't rule anymore," Tron says.  "I will do that now."  He turns a firm gaze on Flynn and Alan.  "This system is for the programs.  It will be ruled as such."

Flynn's shoulders sag, and he looks lost.  Alan understands- Tron has just denied him his life's work, and Flynn must have no idea what the human world will hold for him now.

"Your interference must be as limited as possible.  I will permit you access, but you will only be able to come here to this safehouse.  You may not travel the city."

Flynn starts to say something, but Alan squeezes his hand.  He understands that it is for the best.  "And the Isos?  If they appear again?" Flynn asks.

"I will balance them," Tron decrees.

Clu pulls back like he's been betrayed and faces Tron.  "No, you can't-"

Tron holds his shoulder again, firm.  "I will govern, and you will build.  Don't you remember how you enjoyed creating when there were needs left to fill?"

The golden program softens.  Clearly he remembers. 

"Their uncertainty and change will give you new challenges.  You have gotten weak, Clu."

"Perfection is the quest, not the goal," Flynn intones, and Tron shoots him a glare for interfering.

"I am more powerful than I have ever been," Clu argues, but he hardly believes his own words.

"Return to your world, Users.  Bring the Iso.  We have much to do here," Tron growls, and his words are final.

"I have an idea, if you'll permit me," Alan ventures as they all walk towards the Throne Ship.  "Clu- sent a page.  When you're ready to allow us back here…  just ask.  And if you don't-"

Tron regards him sternly.  "Thank you, Alan-One.  I will take that power."

The Throne Ship flies them to the portal, and Flynn catches Clu for a long hug before they depart.  Clu resists initially but then relaxes against him, needing the contact.

"I'm so-" Flynn starts, but Clu stops him.

"What's done is done, for us both."  Clu's eyes dart to Alan for a second but makes no further apology.

Alan and Tron shake hands and then Alan pulls his program into a sudden, brief hug as well.  Tron resists as well, and pats him on the shoulder, stiff.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Alan-One.  We will meet again, some day."

"Please, Tron, call me Alan.  And- anytime."  Alan wishes they had met under other circumstances.

"Let's go," says Flynn, and leads Alan and Quorra into the beam of light.  He raises his disk, and in a rush Alan feels heavier, a different sense of gravity overtaking his body.  It takes his eyes a moment to adjust.

Everything in front of him is blurry, and he realizes with a start that he's wearing his glasses again.  When he removes them, his eyesight has returned- his vision is perfect. 

Flynn smiles mysteriously.  "I've gotta get something from upstairs.  You two wait in the arcade." 

Alan knows that Flynn is getting the book from his office, but he doesn't mention it.  He simply leads Quora into the arcade, and tries a quarter in the slot for the Tron console game.

The machine accepts the quarter, and he's watching her gleefully play a bout of Lightcycles when Flynn comes down the stairs with a backpack.  Alan raises an eyebrow.

"Figure I'm staying at your place for a while.  I'm gonna need my toothbrush," Flynn grins. 

Relief washes over Alan, and he can't wait to get Flynn home. 

Quorra whoops when she beats the level, and turns to grin her too-bright smile at them both.  As Alan drives them to his home in the suburbs, she can't keep her eyes off of the window, watching the streetlights.  Tomorrow, he and Flynn will start explaining everything, all the differences, but for now she seems content to wonder.

"Think Sam'll like her?"  Flynn asks idly.

"You haven't even seen him in 20 years, and you're thinking about setting him up already?" Alan chides.

"Sam?  I can meet him?"  Quorra asks, eager.  "When?"

"In the morning," says Flynn.

Once they arrive at his home, Alan shows her to the guest room, explains the sink and the toilet and offers her a shirt that Lora left years ago.  When he closes the door behind himself, he can hear the television already on, channels switching rapidly, and he imagines she can't get herself into too much trouble in one night.  At least, not any trouble he isn't willing to handle in the morning.

By the time he gets upstairs, Flynn is in the shower and the door is open invitingly.  Alan disrobes quickly and slips in behind him, kissing his neck.

The warm-toned light makes Flynn look his age, more than he did on the grid.  But Alan can't keep his hands off of him.  He kisses his neck, arms around his waist, and Flynn melts against him.

"Making up for lost time, huh?" Flynn asks, and Alan just catches him for a kiss.

"I've missed you," he murmurs against his lips, hand working over his stomach. 

"Don't go all sappy on me.  Alan.  Or you still like it when I call you Tron?" he teased, arching back against his cock. 

"I think it's a little different now, Flynn.  Now that I've met the guy." 

"We could pretend," Flynn jokes.  "I bet they are having great make-up sex right now."

"You _haven't_ changed," Alan laughs, exasperated, and kisses him harder.

"'m so glad this still works," Flynn teases, and drops to his knees in the shower, teasing his tongue over his cock as he reaches for Alan's bodywash. He slicks his fingers with it, pressing a soapy digit to his entrance and Alan gasps in pleasure.

He leans back against the cold tile as he enjoys Flynn's attention, his lover working over his cock slowly, getting reacquainted.  They're not rushing, Flynn wrings moans out of him with his mouth and his finger, stretching him slowly. Alan is eager to have Flynn inside him again, to atone for his mistakes, but also to get back into handling his girth regularly.

"Thank you," Flynn moans against his hip as he takes a needed breath.  "You saved me.  I can't thank you enough." 

"I think-" Alan moans as Flynn strokes his prostate, repeating the soft pattern of strokes that always undo Alan, "That maybe you can."

"Mm, tonight?" Flynn asks, as he wraps his lip around a testicle and sucks tenderly.

"Mm, not tonight.  In fact…  it may take the next 20 years."  Alan smirks, and Flynn just moans against him.

Flynn leads him to the bed while they towel themselves off.  He nudges Alan down, onto his back, and playfully kisses up his thigh, to his hip.  "Fuck, Bradley, I've been thinking about this." 

"Yeah…  me too," Alan purrs, and tugs Flynn up by the shoulder for a kiss. 

"Mostly keep thinking 'bout your ass. Still the best one I've ever seen."

Alan laughs softly and bends one of his legs up at the knee invitingly. He can feel already that he isn't as limber as he used to be, that he may be sore from holding this in the morning, but he knows he won't regret it.

Flynn presses into him slowly, clearly savoring it.  His cock feels much more visceral than Clu's, even though they'd been the same girth, and Flynn grunts against his shoulder.

"God, you're so tight," Flynn breathes against his neck, keeping a slow rhythm.  He's no more practiced than Alan had been, but he's always had the advantage of being so large that he hits his prostate without effort.

"Yeah-" is all Alan manages, breathless.  He bends his leg around Flynn's hips, arching up against him, and as his body protests he knows he'll be back in shape for this really soon.

When the pleasure gets to be too much, he reaches to stroke himself to completion.  He comes into his own hand, on his stomach, and it doesn't glow or anything- and he knows he shouldn't be surprised, but a small part of him is.

Flynn grunts in satisfaction and pulls back to stroke himself off, too, coming on Alan's stomach, and Alan doesn't even pretend to be offended. 

Instead, he wipes himself clean with one of the towels, and pulls Flynn against himself.

"We'll see Sam in the morning?" Flynn asks drowsily, snuggling against Alan like he's never left his side.

"Yeah.  We'll go see him," Alan murmurs, tracing patterns out on Flynn's skin that resemble the glowing circuits that the inhabitants of the grid wore.   It takes him longer to fall asleep, but he's reluctant to move away.  He doesn't want to miss a second of the time they have left.


End file.
